The Last Revelation I: Night In Cairo
by Heidi Ahlmen
Summary: We join Jean-Yves and Lara in a lonely apartment, downtown Cairo, on December 31st 1999. A prologue for the series.
1. Chapter 1

I am not making any money with this. I do not own Lara Croft, Tomb Raider etc.  
  
Only to be archived at Fanfiction.net and 'Lara Croft's Tales of Beauty and Power'. All other sites email me first to gain permission.  
  
=====================================  
  
The Last Revelation Part I: Night In Cairo  
  
by Heidi Ahlmen (siirma6@surfeu.fi)  
  
=====================================  
  
Night in Cairo. The city's usually raging streets were now a kingdom of the wind, and the ominously darkened skies were speeding away. No living creature wandered the streets of the capital of Egypt. It seemed as though even time itself had abandoned this city, its minaret towers clad in silent, naked moonlight.  
  
Near the hanging church in the Coptic quarters, around a street corner from Khan-El Khalili, a single pillar of light pierced a window. The window belonged to a two-storey, colonialist-built stone house.  
  
Inside, a door rattled shut.  
  
Jean-Yves DuCarmine stepped into the third-floor apartment, dropping his keys onto the telephone table. In his footsteps followed a woman who seemed too tired to keep up any kind of a feminine appearance.  
  
Lara Croft banged the door closed after peering into the dark hallway, sighed, and stripped off her heavy holsters with a single, well-practiced rip of velcro. She sat down on the floor, discarding her boots and leaving them near the door. She pushed aside a lock of sweaty hair, and waited for her pounding head to calm down before attempting to get up.  
  
Jean-Yves, ignoring the uninviting darkness of the living room, pulled the curtains closed.  
  
"No need for anyone to look in," he explained, more to himself than anyone else.  
  
In the hallway Lara climbed onto her feet, patting dusty Egyptian sand from her khaki shorts. She watched the grains fall and disappear into the wall- to-wall carpet's surface grottos, and wondered when the place had last been vacuumed properly. Not that she cared. Sleeping in caves made one rather appreciative of any kind of mats.  
  
Jean returned to the narrow hallway and switched on a small lamp. The place looked now slightly cozier. A bit too colonialist, though. A bit too exaggerated with its worn-out, long red velvet curtains and antique furniture, but altogether cozy.  
  
"Larah," Jean-Yves called.  
  
She spared a sad thought on how long it had been since she had last heard her name been pronounced like that. Larah. With an H. She had never wanted to correct it. Never, really. It was nice to have someone calling her name for a change. She didn't really count as such those 'Miss Croft' ones that were always accompanying her on her travels, demanding, asking, admiring and threatening. She felt as if "Miss Croft" was a whole separate persona of hers, the one who was always pitted against something, who always got herself into tricky situations. At times Lara felt she didn't stand a chance of having a decent human relationship because of being downright too much "Miss Crofty". No-one ever called out for a Lara. Noone ever called out for the woman she had grown to be from childhood. No-one ever called out for her insignificant but oh, so important personal thoughts. She had learnt not to share them, as it would always end up in chagrin.  
  
It is a common proverb that nice, honest women always lose their men to melon-breasted, tall and lanky blonde bunnies, but the truth, it seemed, was that most men still, at some point, simply wanted a gentle wife. And that wasn't something Lara Croft was willing to be. Usually she felt proud of this religion of hers, choosing a dream and a career over social happiness, but at times it really bothered her.  
  
Once, a long time ago, she had needed a respected partner, specialized in Egyptology and skilled with deciphering anything that she came across and could not interpret herself - and Jean had been there.  
  
With that bad English of his. It had improved over the years, much from Lara's effort at getting him some kind of "decent upbringing", as she joked. But since day one, she'd been Larah. With an H.  
  
Lara took a quick look at her surroundings, now lit by over a dozen smaller lamps and a small chandelier. It was a large, well-decorated apartment in downtown Cairo. The unavoidable soft coat of sahara sand lay everywhere, and the wall-to-wall carpet she had already noted looked inviting to walk on barefooted. The bookshelves were full of statuettes and small stelae with hieroglyphics.  
  
"Who did you say this place belongs to?" she asked Jean, who was turning on the gas in the kitchen.  
  
"John and Catarina Sheare. They are both currently in Geneva, and gave me the keys years ago in case I ever wanted to spend the night at Cairo. Old colleagues. Let us hope they left something for us to eat."  
  
Lara marveled at the way Jean-Yves managed to stay calm and talk cuisine after what had happened just a few hours earlier. Rope marks were still somewhat visible on his wrists, and Lara herself was a collection of assorted injuries herself. A bullet had scraped her leg. She would take care of it later.  
  
She was still standing in the hallway, her back against the wall. She had a killer headache, and she was feeling cold, although the temperature in Cairo was over thirty degrees. She hadn't been feeling very good for the last couple of days, and being extra worried for Jean-Yves had added to the extreme exertion her body had been through. Dozens of the kind of slight wounds that eventually build up a Niagra of soreness at nights and the lack of food had turned her body into a half-functioning system. And she was worried it would decrease her chances against whatever she was to be battling the next day.  
  
She still isolated Jean-Yves from her private thoughts, silently demanding personal space. And Jean - ever so close but at the same time ever so distant to her, didn't push her. He waited, as he had waited before. Knowing that eventually, she would say something that would lead to a rhetorically philosophical, all-night-long conversation. The pressure was intense.  
  
Lara wondered how Jean-Yves felt. She had always wondered if men were given a strong ability to deal with extreme stress in birth. Now that would be something to ask from Jean. Sometime.  
  
Not all archaeologists are field-specialized ones. And Jean-Yves had always been a definite non-fieldie. Still, he seemed to have nerves of steel.  
  
After all, the end of the world was at hand, their colleague had turned into a reincarnation of an ancient Egyptian god of evil, and Jean-Yves himself has suffered a kidnapping.  
  
On the surface Lara was characteristically calm, of course. As always. No rhetorical questions beginning with the word 'why'. No what-ifs. Just a mission to accomplish - nothing more but nothing less. She saved questions for those who were weak anough to ask them.  
  
Yet life itself was a line of why's, and most of them she didn't even have the time to ask.  
  
"Lara, would you like to take a shower?" called Jean-Yves.  
  
Lara slumped on the red sofa and let the mighty weariness wash all over her. She felt unusually warm now, and every muscle in her body was aching in a strange way that made her movements stiff and powerless.  
  
"In a minute, Jean. I have to wait for the." she stopped for a yawn, ".the Amex to bring my suitcase."  
  
Jean-Yves looked puzzled.  
  
"I ordered my bags from Alexandria. They delivered them from Hotel Tulip in Alexandria to Hilton here in Cairo yesterday. I called them from a telephone post with the few piasters I had left before I came to meet you outside the Citadel gates."  
  
Jean seemed happy with the explanation. Lara Croft, always the practical one. The thought of her running out of change was disconcerting, though. Very unlike Lara.  
  
"I need my gear", Lara continued, as if defending her actions, "I'll make plenty of use of my bow tomorrow, I predict."  
  
"You seem tired, my dear. Why don't you let me wait for the porter and you go have the nice shower."  
  
Lara turned to look at him from the sofa she'd conquered.  
  
"I'm tired, Jean. I'm going to take a shower tomorrow. Right now, all I need is a fresh, clean shirt and time to prepare for tomorrow. I still have a transcript of the Set stela to go through and."  
  
Jean-Yves crossed his arms on his chest.  
  
"I am not trying to be, how do you say, nosy? Here, but." Jean began, but paused, as Lara looked at her, smiling vaguely.  
  
"What now?" he asked.  
  
"You sound like our friend Werner when you say that. 'Howdyiysaaayit'" Lara mocked and stretched her left arm, watching an old scar on the tanned skin stretch as well. "You were saying?"  
  
"How about if you forgot about Werner von Croy for this evening. And I am not trying to be impolite here, Lara, but when are you planning on sleeping?"  
  
"I'll take a nap after I've read through your papers and fixed the crossbow. If I have the time," Lara stated, following Jean-Yves with her tired gaze.  
  
"And when was the last time you ate something? You do not look too well. I hope you will join me for some dinner."  
  
Lara took a long look at him. He was starting to sound concerned - at least on Lara's scale, and she was a somewhat overtly sensitive on the subject.  
  
"I always have a chocolate bar or two in my pocket. I had a sandwich before I found von Croy's note in Alexandria."  
  
"Lara, that was two days ago. How have you managed?"  
  
"Fine, for your concern. Now, if you please, where is the phone? I need to call the company. I'm going to speed those lads a little. Those bags contain all your books, and your translation of the amulet of Horus. If they've misplaced those I won't be responsible for my actions."  
  
Lara began to climb up from the sofa but lost balance for a second, and needed another try to get up. She smiled apologetically to Jean and disappeared to the kitchen.  
  
"I'm dying of thirst, though."  
  
Jean-Yves followed her like a shadow, taking a critical look at her.  
  
To say that Lara looked tired would be a mock understatement. Exhausted was more like it. Muddy. Battle-stained. Jean observed the dark lines around her eyes, and a fine trail of blood that had dried up on her calf. The line lead up to a reddish four-inch wound in the proxitimity of her knee.  
  
"Lara, someone should take a look at that knee."  
  
Lara put the wet glass she had drank from into the sink, wiping the drops of water from her lips  
  
"Oh, this?" she asked, raising her left leg. "It's okay, Jean, even if it catches an infection, it won't happen yet."  
  
Jean-Yves looked concerned again. He knelt down and ran a finger over the rip. The wound was full of sand, and a crack of glass was firmly situated inside it. "You are just going to leave it like that, oui? And not even put anything in it? You know there is a glass piece in it?"  
  
Lara stretched down, leaning on her ankles, trying to see what Jean-Yves had noticed.  
  
"Great. Now I have to go and fish it out." Lara managed to hide a grimace. She noticed her hands shaking a bit, probably due to low blood sugar. Considering her options, she decided for a quick scream, and sat down to a chair, in a half-lotus position. She grabbed the shard of glass with two fingers and, gasping, pulled it off. The wound slowly began to trickle dark, clotted blood.  
  
Jean-Yves brought her backpack by request and she tied an old handkerchief on the wound, slightly amused by Jean's concerned face as he tried to lecture her on the importance of cleaning up injuries properly.  
  
"Jean, I've more than had my share of these. It's nothing, really." She sneezed to end her statement, and felt a sudden urge to go to bed.  
  
Jean started rummaging through the kitchen cupboards in search for kettles and cutlery, and Lara limped to the living room, carefully trying to move the wounded leg as little as possible to avoid the dull ache using the muscles induced. It had hurt considerably less before she pulled out the glass shard.  
  
Strangely, slight aches and pains often proved valuable in battle. Adrenaline had an aggressor effect. Quickened one's reactions. But mostly just made one plain angry. And speaking of experience - what ached slightly at noon would be a killer pain at midnight. But now wasn't the time to run around looking for a hospital.  
  
Securing the continuance of civilization on Earth came first. After that one would have plenty of time for running after penicillin prescriptions.  
  
She returned to the sofa after retrieving a book from her backpack - one of Jean's books from Alexandria. He had hidden the transcription inside the cover. Lara piled a couple of pillows behind her back and lifted her throbbing leg on the sofa table, inspecting her tennis-sock-covered foot.  
  
She tried studying the book and the transcription but all the focus was gone. 'Either you are getting old, Lara dear, or you are extremely nervous,' she thought a bit bitterly. 'Disoriented' would have been the most descriptive choice.  
  
Ignoring her aching leg she walked to the bathroom, after spying on Jean- Yves in the kitchen. He seemed to be only concerned with his own thoughts, far from the world and Cairo.  
  
Walking to the bathroom, Lara wondered secretly whose part was tougher, hers or Jean's.  
  
-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~  
  
As always, comments and reviews would be much appreciated - they're the fuel that feeds this creative furnace.  
  
siirma6@surfeu.fi 


	2. Chapter 2

I am not making any money with this. I do not own Lara Croft, Tomb Raider etc.  
  
Only to be archived at Fanfiction.net and 'Lara Croft's Tales of Beauty and Power'. All other sites email me first to gain permission.  
  
============================================= The Last Revelation Part I: Night In Cairo by Heidi Ahlmen (siirma6@surfeu.fi) =============================================  
  
After finding a towel Lara washed her face, enjoying the flowing yet greyish water that came out of the old faucet. Hoping the water would clear off her thoughts she drank from the faucet, despite what she'd learnt about water quality in Egypt. 'One can't have that bad luck twice'. Smiling for her own surprise, she remembered a certain trip to Sudan. She had drank from the faucet at the airport, and as a piece of cultural exchange, gotten some nasty diarrhoea. It had forced her to stay in the hotel as the other students from Boston had taken part in finding a grand treasure, an old king's grave in the thick jungle. It was probably the first and only time she'd ever gotten drunk enough to pass out. And whiskey had only made her feel more sick. The joke had been literally following her through the Chicago university years; 'what do you get if you take an English woman, Egyptian water, and too much whiskey? The Croft hangover'.  
  
Now she could only smile at the memory. It seemed as if the raging skies of Egypt had set every memory, everything happening in her life to the right scale. It was as if she had lived for this moment only, the final moment of losing or winning. She was sorry to involve others in the process, but for once, she was selfish enough to not feel guilty.  
  
And if Lara Croft failed now, at least she would pay for her grand mistake with her life.  
  
Lara had no idea how long she had spent in a state of mind-swallowing comatose slumber on the sofa warpped in a bathrobe, but eventually she was awakened by a gentle shake. It was Jean. She sat up, shaking her head free from haze. She looked around. Jean had set up a table with two plates, spaghetti and some kind of sauce.  
  
"Lara, come and eat."  
  
"I'm tired, Jean," she said silently. It felt like in the middle of the night, the same overly calm atmosphere and silence.  
  
"Lara, you have to eat, dear. You'll disappear out of sight soon. You have things to finish tomorrow."  
  
Slightly annoyed at the fact that Jean-Yves felt it was necessary to remind her of that, Lara sat up slowly. Hating to admit it, she had to close her eyes for a second to stop the room from spinning.  
  
"I'll eat tomorrow. I'll fix everything tomorrow. Tomorrow's going to be bloody fully organized for me, Jean."  
  
"Lara Croft, if you refuse to eat for yourself, then at least, please, keep me company. I am a mere mortal in need of carbohydrates."  
  
Lara smiled, a sudden wash of regret reaching her every cell. Jean's cool French wit was a continental version of her sharp, dry, British intellect. Once they had been inseparable. Undefeatable. Together. A long ago. And now she missed that feeling, comforting awareness of the fact that if you got in trouble, there would be someone who kept tabs on you. She wondered if Jean was feeling as sentimental as she was.  
  
"Okay then. But let me sleep first."  
  
Jean didn't agree to that, and simply grabbed her arm and pulled her up. She sat down at the table and ate reluctantly but obediently, ignoring the nameless sickness that had made her appetite vanish, and then concentrated on ripping her napkin to little shreds. Jean was still finishing his spaghetti when Lara thought about returning to the sofa. Then she thought again.  
  
If he wasn't going to begin, then the quest fell to her.  
  
"It's been a long time since we - - ," she searched for the appropriate word, "met like this, Jean."  
  
He stopped twisting his last spoonful of spaghetti and looked at her, having a small epiphany. As attractive as she was, most men would have considered themselves lucky if Lara even once looked at them. Many men would also have been taken aback by her independence. Despite all the odds, here she was, sitting at a late night spaghetti table with him. He felt honored, in a way. But yet Jean-Yves DuCarmine knew that the true route to Lara's heart required someone who could see past of what she did and achieved, to who she was. And he did.  
  
"Yes it has, Lara."  
  
"Lara?"  
  
Jean looked at her, his eyes asking what she meant.  
  
Lara dropped her napkin and watched it slowly become soaked in the spaghetti sauce still left on her plate.  
  
"You have never called me Lara. You've always used the H form."  
  
"You know why?" Jean asked, tapping her mouth gently to the napkin, his eyes never leaving Lara's.  
  
"Perhaps you could tell me," Lara said quietly, grimacing. She was in no state for mind-games.  
  
"Because you like it," Jean-Yves stated, concentrating on his food again.  
  
Lara sighed as old memories came. Must've been the fever. Must've been the headache, that was making her this emotional. Or maybe it was Set, trying to affect her through Jean and the whole situation.  
  
Lara was about to say something, but she was interrupted by the knock on the door.  
  
"My bags," she exclaimed in an apologetic tone, and hurried to the shady hallway. She opened the door, paid the porter and took the bags quickly to the bedroom, leaving Jean alone. After a moment of contemplation she decided to close the door as well.  
  
Jean-Yves sat alone in the living room. Just sitting. In the same way he had sat years ago as she'd walked away the first time. Not in that melodramatical and oh-so-romantic way, of course. That would not suit Duchess Lara Croft. She needed a good, cleansing fight, anger hidden behind calm and thorny words.  
  
Lara Croft never failed to amaze Jean-Yves with that utter, pure, righteous fire of her soul. She was rarely afraid, sad, puzzled or felt threatened. She was civilized, appreciative of all cultures but conscious of her own as well. And she definitely was not shy. After all, she had answered the door in her bathrobe. No a smart move in general in Egypt, but Lara defied ordinary rules in a strange way. It was as though culture gave her a leeway for the wonderful work she was doing trying to preserve it.  
  
Jean was a Frenchman, proud of it, and he thought like one. He'd studied the compulsory classical literature and poetry emphasized in French schooling. In his opinion one couldn't describe Lara Croft better in any way that one wouldn't use to describe a dancing flame.  
  
It was unnecessary to say she was to be left alone now.  
  
Or not. After all, if you are going to save the everyone else's world, make sure you can save your own, too.  
  
Why was it that no matter what the situation, Jean felt like she was always in control. He felt unsure, uncertain what to do. But this was his time. His moment to confront her.  
  
In the meanwhile, Lara had changed into a black T-shirt and a pair of jeans. She had wandered to the balcony, invited by the flowing satin curtains. It was windy, as it had been for the last week.  
  
Lara laughed mildly at the thought that a single human being was able to mess up the sky and everything. Who'd have thought. Bloody peculiar.  
  
She heard the door open, not a tad surprised though. She'd known he'd follow. After all, it might be her last evening on Earth. Funny how the thought did not frighten her all that much.  
  
Was it because she did not have much to lose? And was she already trying to accept the loss of the little she had?  
  
Didn't accepting losing mean that there was no point in fighting? Fifty- fifty situations weren't good situations.  
  
"I mean what I said, Larah, back then," Jean said, accentuating the H. "We could have made a lovely team, you and me."  
  
Lara followed his moves silently, feeling like every unit of energy was leaving her body.  
  
"I know you, Jean," she said sharply, but paused, somewhat startled by her own stiff tone. "But I also know myself. Neither of us would be willing to abandon a life career for a life together."  
  
"Anything can be arranged. You could travel - I know I would have to cope with being worried about you all the time, but what's a man to do. I could still be situated in Alexandria.."  
  
"Here we are, planning the future that is perhaps only twelve hours long." Lara laughed, then slammed a hand on her mouth. She hadn't meant to say it.  
  
"Jean." Lara said, ignoring her own, demanding tone. A tone that called others off, but only because she didn't want to feel like she was losing control.  
  
"Jean-Yves, being married is being married. You don't get married just for the sake of saying that you are married. If anyone worried about me, I would feel responsible for that person, too. I will not carry such a burden."  
  
"Lara, I feel I am getting old."  
  
Time to dig out the old clichéed 'you're a nice guy and everything' -speech, Lara thought, but was incapable of doing so.  
  
"How does it feel like to be a heroine?" Jean-Yves asked, with a soft bitterness in his voice.  
  
"Pardon me?"  
  
"You're about to save the world. What if something happens to you?"  
  
"Nice job with the simplification, Jean. If something happens this shall be the last time I ever see you. Do you really think I haven't thought about that?"  
  
"You've surprised me with your thoughts or lack thereof such a great number of times I take nothing for granted from you, Lara."  
  
"You make it sound as though I ought to be honored to hear that," Lara answered, crossing her arms on her chest. She was getting cold in the balcony.  
  
"Jean, if I thought of dying tomorrow, then today would be wasted. You know what Mohammed said; live today, fight tomorrow. I would gladly talk this through, Jean, but it is getting late, and I have business tomorrow that will have to wait for this little affair of ours."  
  
"Little affair? I am sorry if I am being overly emotional on this, archaeologist Lara Croft, but this used to be more than a little affair to you."  
  
"Past is past, Jean. Leave me alone. Just leave me alone," Lara said, a bit annoyed, but mostly feeling as she would explode in tears, anger, relief, stress and other mixed feelings if Jean so much as just opened his mouth again.  
  
"Lara, you don't look well. You look ill." Jean stood up and lowered a hand carefully on Lara's forehead.  
  
"You are burning! Are you sure you have your malaria profylaxias in order?" he joked in a gentle tone.  
  
"Always, Jean, always," Lara yawned silently, returning to the bedroom and letting herself fall onto the bed mattress.  
  
"We need to get you to bed, Lara."  
  
"Whatever." No objections. Not now. Saving the world was a much more prioritized problem than feeling awkward because of being fussed over.  
  
"Lara, you have fever. You are sick. You need to take something - aspirin maybe."  
  
Lara rubber he eyes with her bruised knucles and opened them.  
  
"Nothing a good night's stressless sleep, sunny weather and a peaceful resting day won't cure."  
  
Jean smiled at her.  
  
"If this is the dry cool British wit you always hear of. Seriously, you take the bed, I will be happy on the sofa."  
  
"Gladly."  
  
Jean turned to leave. He had things to say to her, and was reluctant to keep quiet. But a strange defeat had washed over him.  
  
"Jean?" Lara asked suddenly.  
  
The archaeologist turned, and Lara scanned his whole figure, as if trying to memorize every single feature.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I have a million things in my head that need saying, a million voices in my head telling me what to do. And I will be gone tomorrow. Don't look for me. I am a selfish person. A very selfish one. I'm a real pain, Jean. If you look for me I lose. If I lose, I want to lose honestly, because I wasn't good enough. If I win, I want to be the one who comes to you."  
  
"Have a good day tomorrow, Lara." Jean-Yves said silently, cursing his often lacking English. Not that it was the language's fault that he had no words for the situation.  
  
"Good night, Jean. God, I feel like I should have something global and philosophical to say."  
  
"You have said enough."  
  
Jean left the room.  
  
He sat down on the bed's unqconquered side an hour later, listening to a tomb raider's sleeping sounds. Lara Croft slept heavily, feverishly in the bed, hair hanging in sweaty locks around her face.  
  
Jean-Yves was not a religious man, yet he mumbled a soft prayer under his breath for whatever god was protecting this woman, and left the room for the balcony.  
  
Godspeed, Lara Croft. The end is drawing near.  
  
Jean-Yves sat down on the balcony railing and stared out into the unnaturally restless night. The ancient minaret towers stood steady in the raging sandstrom. Tomorrow all this would perhaps be gone. Funny, he had always felt the old minarets were something that would stand an eternity.  
  
Funny that the eternity perhaps wasn't any longer than this.  
  
And he knew that the minute he left Lara, the endgame begun. She'd be alone.  
  
And he'd be alone and fearful.  
  
End of part I/V  
  
~For additional information and insight concerning this story, check out the archive "Lara Croft's Tales Of Beauty And Power". I hope you've enjoyed the ride so far.  
  
Heidi  
  
All feedback to: siirma6@surfeu.fi 


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